I've posted this on my personal blog and worth sharing here too.

It's Father's Day here in the UK.

I'm writing this sat in the garden early in the morning, coffee in hand, listening to the birds singing and enjoying the sunshine before the day properly begins.

Like many dads today, I'll receive a card, probably a gift, and spend time with my family. I'll call in and see my own father, enjoy a family meal, maybe have a beer or two in the garden later, watch some football and reflect on what being a father means.

As parents, we never really see ourselves through our children's eyes.

To our kids, we're often larger than life.

We're the person they come to when something breaks. The person who solves problems. The protector. The provider. The one who is supposed to know what to do when life gets difficult.

In many ways, we're their first example of what a man should be.

My youngest daughter once told me that lots of boys had asked her out, but none of them met the standard.

If I'm honest, hearing that made me smile.

Not because I think I'm perfect. Far from it.

But because it reminded me that our children are always watching. They're learning what respect looks like. What loyalty looks like. What kindness looks like. What effort looks like.

Whether we realise it or not, they measure the world against the example we set.

Looking back, I've been fortunate.

I've always been competitive. I played football, rugby, cricket and athletics. I represented teams at a decent level and often played adult sport while I was still a kid. I coached later in life and enjoyed success there too.

I worked hard at school, went on to university, earned my degree and built a career I'm proud of. Over the years I've become recognised as an expert in my field.

The word that always motivated me wasn't money or status.

It was respect.

I first heard the phrase in The Godfather and it stuck with me. Not demanding respect. Not expecting it. Earning it.

I've tried to live my life that way.

Being dependable.

Being honest.

Treating people properly.

Standing up for what's right.

Being the same person whether I'm talking to a senior manager, a cleaner, a friend or a stranger.

At school I never belonged exclusively to one group. I got on with everyone. The geeks, the athletes, the popular kids, the quiet kids. I've always believed people deserve respect until they prove otherwise.

From the outside, I probably fit the stereotype of the traditional dad.

Strong.

Capable.

Reliable.

The sort of bloke people expect to have it all figured out.

Yet like every father I know, there are things beneath the surface.

Stress.

Worry.

Fear.

Doubt.

The pressure of wanting to do right by your family.

The pressure of wanting your children to have opportunities you never had.

The pressure of wanting to protect them from disappointments that you know are unavoidable.

Yesterday I was shopping with my family. I wandered through the men's section and found absolutely nothing that interested me.

As I walked through the women's section looking for them, I found myself smiling internally.

Nobody around me would have had the slightest idea that beneath the confident exterior, the broad shoulders and the family-man image, exists another side of me entirely.

A side that occasionally becomes Davina.

A side that shaves, moisturises, applies makeup and transforms itself into a reasonably convincing woman.

A side that exists not because I'm unhappy being a man, but because sometimes it's my escape from all the expectations that come with it.

The funny thing is that I genuinely enjoy being a man.

I enjoy being a husband.

I enjoy being a father.

I enjoy being the person my family can rely on.

But sometimes even the strongest people need somewhere to put down the weight they carry.

Sometimes we all need an escape.

Some people run.

Some people fish.

Some people spend hours in the garage.

Some disappear into sport.

Some lose themselves in books.

My escape just happens to be less conventional than most.

And that's okay.

Because the lesson I've learned as I've grown older is that strength isn't pretending you don't need a release.

Strength is recognising that you do.

Every dad carries burdens his children never see.

Every dad worries more than he admits.

Every dad has moments where he's making it up as he goes along.

Every dad has fears he keeps hidden because he doesn't want those around him to carry them too.

The important thing is finding a healthy way to reset.

Finding a way to recharge.

Finding something that allows you to come back stronger for the people who depend on you.

Even Batman needs a break occasionally.

Today, though, isn't about escapes.

Today is about family.

It's about watching my children continue to grow into good people.

It's about hoping they become better versions of me.

It's about wanting them to find happiness, fulfilment and whatever healthy outlet helps them navigate life's pressures.

Because life will give them stress.

Life will give them fears.

Life will give them worries.

I just hope they learn earlier than I did that carrying everything alone isn't strength.

Finding a way to release it is.

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there.

Especially the ones quietly carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Find your way to reset.

Find your way to recharge.

And remember that even Batman needs a break.

Davina